“But you’re questioning me.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “Because I need to know.”
I laughed softly under my breath, shaking my head. “Need to know what, exactly?”
He took a step forward. “I need to know why. I need to know if this was about Patrick and me. About what he did months ago. About revenge.” His voice hardened just a little. “I need to know if you planned this. If you’ve been carrying it with you all this time. Or if this was… heat of the moment.”
There it was.
The implication that lodged itself right under my ribs.
I looked up at him then, really looked at him, and something inside me snapped—not loudly, not violently, just clean and final.
“Really?” I asked.
He remained silent.
That was all it took.
“When Patrick took your life,” I said, my voice rising despite myself, “and
